


Green-Eyed

by jadedoll



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-21
Updated: 2009-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 02:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadedoll/pseuds/jadedoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter didn't really get what the problem was. He's a little oblivious like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Green-Eyed

“Bourbon? No? Whiskey?” The friendly business man had taken to listing each bottle of liquor that he could see beyond the bar. He had snared the seat beside Peter nearly twenty minutes ago and was intent on buying the nurse-slash-saviour of humanity a drink. Despite being gently turned down at least seven times, the older man was persistent and actually rather charming. With sparkling blue eyes and sandy grey hair, he had a sort of Robert Redford thing going on. If Redford starting wearing thousand dollar suits and had haircuts that cost more than Peter earned in a month. _This is what Nathan will be like in fifteen years._ Peter smiled and shook his head at the offer of a “Sambuca on ice?”

“Really, I don’t need another. Thanks.” Tapping a finger against the chilled glass still in front of him, Peter glanced searchingly around the large room. The bar was packed to the polished wood beams with professional types crowding in for desperate Friday after-work alcohol.

“C’mon, cut me some slack here? Just one drink?” The blue eyes really were delightful. “You never know babe, I could be your one and only! Let me buy you a drink and we can find out. I promise I’m not a serial killer or anything. Scout’s honour.”  Hand over heart and absolute honesty on the rugged, handsome features.

A gurgle of laughter bubbled from Peter, quickly smothered by the rim of the empty glass pressed against his lips. About to reply, the tumbler was stolen from his fingers by a dark-clad figure that loomed over the seated pair.

“Pity. He only dates people with balls enough to brutally slaughter any rivals and play cat’s cradle with their entrails.” The deep, drawling voice penetrated the chaotic noise around them, causing a shiver at the back of Peter’s neck like ice frosting his stolen glass.

The business man looked up into Sylar’s cool, emotionless face and flinched at what he found there. Peter saw the flirtatious laughter drain from the blue eyes as the expected ‘just joking’ never eventuated from Sylar. A glance at Peter who was putting his payment on the bar and the nurse could see the decision being reached behind that look. Weighing up any chance at Peter over the not-very-subtle threat emanating from Sylar. Not really surprised that any minor charms he possessed being unable to balance the silent “Yes I will kill you and really, really, really enjoy it” vibe that Sylar was exuding, the business man sighed theatrically and looked around for another potential bed mate.

Standing, Peter turned towards his lover and raised an enquiring eyebrow at the murderous flame still burning in the midnight eyes.

“What?”

Because he was, after all, Peter.

Empathy didn’t mean you were necessarily quick on the uptake. Particularly when you didn’t notice you were being hit on until you realised that your thigh was being stroked in a way that might not be as casual as you first thought.

Murderous becoming even more deadly if that were possible, long fingers encircled his wrist and Peter was being lead through the crowd towards the exit. The people parted like the red sea at Sylar’s silent direction. It was either telekinesis or just force of personality, but Peter spotted several suits yelping and rubbing their shoulders so decided it must be option A.

The crisp air cooled cheeks slightly flushed from the press of humanity inside as Sylar picked up speed, until Peter had to dance a little to keep up or have his hand pulled off.

“What is it?” he asked as they turned down the next alley. “Sylar, I barely said a word to him.” Explanations falling on deaf ears, Peter started to get angry with the silent, boorish mood his lover was in. It had been weeks since they last met, neither man having time from their rebellion against the government sanctions to even be in the same city, let alone spend it together. Now Sylar was being an asshole when they should be checking into a hotel for athletic sex rather then having a snarling match in a filthy alley.

Digging in his heels, Peter yanked back on Sylar’s grip and wished he’d copied Mohinder’s strength before he left the stronghold rather than Claire’s power.

“Don’t be a…” But the sentence was never finished as Sylar turned sharply and crowded Peter backwards until he was pressed into the graffiti swirled brick behind him. Long fingers slid up into his hair and a hot, wet kiss punished Peter’s lips. Anger still simmering but overshadowed by lust, Peter burrowed his hands under Sylar’s coat and grabbed onto the belt loops at his lover’s lean hips.

He barely got a chance to return the kiss, however, as the hands cradling his head roughly pushed his face to one side, exposing Peter’s neck to the chill night air and the hard bite of Sylar’s teeth.

“Hey...ow!!” The small wound healed quickly, but that was hardly a play-nip. A second bite sent Peter up on his toes in both pain and the sudden rush of pleasure that hit his cock. A third bite that almost immediately healed. A torrent of swearing issued from Sylar’s normally articulate tongue.

“God dammed cheerleader, all over you to taker her power to keep you ‘safe’ I’m fucking sure…”

Bristling at the abuse aimed at his lovely niece, Peter wrenched his head away from the grasping hands.

“What the hell is wrong with…?”

“Take one of mine…now.” The order was unmistakable, but Peter had spent his entire life being commanded by men with egos bigger than Texas and he hadn’t ducked his head to either of them either.

“Fuck off.”

Barely five inches between them, but Peter felt it widen to a chasm as he watched a riot of emotions cross the normally ice-perfect face of his dangerous lover. Genuinely lost as to the cause of this blow up, Peter crushed some of his anger down and looked at Sylar clearly for the first time that night.

Anger. Frustration. Desire. Exhaustion. Passion.

And shadowing all the others with its fierce, green tinted glint.

Oh.

Reaching out, Peter brushed his finger-tips across that neat, sinful mouth. In a shimmer of power he gained the ability to turn lead into gold. Leaning back against the wall with a carelessness he didn’t feel, Peter bit the corner of his lip in a way that he know drover his lover mad and said,

“He was kind of cute actually. I wonder if he’d buy me that drink if I went back inside.” It was exactly the wrong thing to say…or the right one if you knew what would happen.

An old metal rubbish can flew violently from one side of the alley to the other and then crumpled into something close to the size of a soda can.

As understanding dawned in bitter chocolate eyes, Peter tilted his head invitingly.

“Knock yourself out.”

Sylar pounced, grabby hands curving under Peter’s ass and lifting him onto his toes while a hard leg pressed between his thighs. An even harder erection ground against Peter’s own, causing a sound to issue from him that was most likely a long wanton moan.

Of course the bites this time nearly broke the skin and Peter would look like he’d been mauled by a dog tomorrow, but it was worth it. Worth it to feel his lover crush them so close together, to have their bodies thrust and push in a perfect rhythm that wasn’t nearly enough.

So lost was he in the sensation of touch and being touched, that Peter didn’t realise what he was hearing for several seconds. No more swearing, just one word over and over. Chanted into the skin of his neck and shoulder, across his cheekbone and slipped into his mouth.

“Mine, mine, mine, mine…..”

Something that felt like pain but was probably love curled in Peter’s middle and he sucked sudden in air to his paralysed lungs in one painful sob. Twisting around, he deftly unbuckled his belt and then jeans, shoving the material down low enough to expose his ass and burning hard cock to the air.

“Fuck me, please…” he spoke the harsh sounds into the dirty bricks and spread his fingers against the wall for balance. “Prove it Gabriel, prove it. I want you, please. Fuck me, show me…”

Only seconds pass, Peter’s voice desperate and slutty in the muted darkness of the alley. He keeps begging, keeps demanding. Then a warm, damp finger at his ass and his lover’s mouth once again painting possession into Peter’s throat with bruises.

Finally ready after long hot seconds, the relentless press of something larger than fingers into his body. No finesse, just a long, hard ache of flesh that breaks Peter’s voice and replaces it with the hard grind of fucking and love.

“Mine, only for me, only mine.” The dusky chant changes as Sylar fucks Peter open, only the wall to prevent him from collapse at the pleasure darting around his body.

“For me, you’re mine…never let you go…kill us first…kill them all first…keep you for me…I won you…never giving you back….mine…kill them for you…kill them all…kill the world for you…mine….mine…”

That is just too much for Peter to comprehend. Rational thought went out the window when he begged for Sylar to fuck him and dealing with the level of obsession he’s hearing is well beyond him right now.

Now is about the silken slide of his lover in his ass, the hot breath in his ear and the fingers around his own rock-hard erection and the orgasm he can feel…about…to…take…him…apart.

Coming in wet, hard shudders, Peter feels Sylar go rigid and nearly tear a jugular in his passion.

Minutes later they are still slumped there. Peter almost invisible under his taller lover and the great black coat that keeps the cold at bay.

A long sighing breath and Sylar nuzzles gently at Peter’s decorated skin. Calm now, the rage dissipated in teeth, sweat and cum.

“So,” Peter offers as he tips his head back to rest on one broad shoulder. “No more smiling at strangers in bars right?”

A soft chuckle in that beloved voice.

“Not if you want them alive the next morning…no.”

finis  
 

 


End file.
